


The Map Is Not The Territory

by SayNevermore



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Caretaking, Comfort No Hurt, Episode Ignis Verse 2, Fluff, Gen, Post-Endgame, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings, well no hurt actually taking place in the fic at least
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-04
Updated: 2018-07-04
Packaged: 2019-06-05 09:20:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15167567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SayNevermore/pseuds/SayNevermore
Summary: After the Dawn breaks, wounds are to be tended and institutions to be restored. But, mostly, a reunion is awaiting.





	The Map Is Not The Territory

Noctis’ flat used to have the best views on the city at night. A great neighborhood, that stayed active late at night, with bars, music and groups of friends dancing in the streets. And when Noctis left at 7am to go to school, all that remained were dirty streets, bleached by the morning sun. Goodbye neons and rock'n'roll, hello trash bags and empty bottles. 

The aftermath of a war, Noctis found, was quite like the aftermath of a party. Goodbye battles and adrenaline, hello casualties and confusion. When dawn had broken, they all woke up from the night still drunk on despair and pain medication, and the cities were empty, the road were destroyed, the land they once knew had disappeared. All cats are grey in the dark and all houses still look intact.

“Hold tight,” he told Prompto, grabbing his free hand to press it against the bandage. For lack of better equipment, he attached a safety pin to it and prayed for it to stay in place when he removed Prompto’s hand.

After all, it was the fault of the Astrals if his magic couldn't infuse potions anymore. They could offer him this small miracle.

“Looks good,” he declared after a few seconds. “You're all set. Let's get you on your feet. I mean, on your foot.” 

Prompto’s laugh sounded like a car failing to roar. “Fuck you,” he managed to articulate, voice hoarse and breath short. He coughed after that. 

They should have examined his throat faster after the battle, but his arm and legs had required immediate attention, and now, Prompto had a lovely scarf to hold his shoulder in place, an ankle secured in a tight bandage, and a very visible bruise on his neck where the giant had crushed it under its hand. 

There were other, more important things to do these days than asking of all the individual heroes of the battle of Insomnia to write a speech; they quickly agreed that only Noctis would talk. But they still had to come on stage with him, his knights, his brothers, who had maintained the flame of hope burning in the darkness and never stopped waiting for him. They still had to wear the colours of the guard and stand by him while he spoke. And Prompto still couldn't get dressed alone.

Noctis had missed the casual warmth of his body, the softness of his skin. Ten years had passed for him in the blink of an eye, but he still felt their weight in his heart, every touch of his friends reminding him how long had passed. Prompto wasn't nearly as thin as he was ten years ago, the beating of his easily anxious heart used to shake him to the core, and when they lied still in the dark Noctis could feel it under his skin. He couldn't anymore. Prompto was both familiar and estranged. 

Today he was learning him again.

More meat than he had before, especially his back and legs. Prompto was a runner, a deer, a boy built for quick retreat. Now he was built for combat. His hips seemed larger, his stance more assured. His arms had taken a little flesh, too, but Noctis had seen that coming with all the gun wielding he had done around him. As he helped Prompto put his pants on, he could see the muscles of his thighs roll under his skin.

He buttoned the pants up on the fat that had pooled around Prompto’s bellybutton. That was also something he didn’t think he’d see one day.He never realized all the efforts Prompto did to control what he looked like, when they were teenagers and just learning how to present in the world. Noctis wasn't interested in girls, wasn't interested in dating, and he had a bunch of personal assistants to help him look good. When he wanted to disappear, he turned out the lights in his flat and slept for fourteen hours, stopped answering phone calls and talked only in hums. He didn't understand that Prompto was trying to disappear by using the same technique that Gladio used to make himself more visible.

Noctis had a lot of time, in the crystal, to think about what Prompto had revealed to them in Gralea. It was nice to see that apparently, Prompto had thought about it too, and come up with a situation where he felt better about himself.

 

It wasn't just the fat. It was in the stance, too, and how Prompto just waited here for Noctis to help him without trying to hide his chest or nervously scratching his neck while making jokes. When Noctis stood back up after buttoning the pants, he just smiled and handed him the t-shirt that went with it. “Level up, dude,” he said with his hoarse voice and a wiggle of his fingers. “Now with a broken arm.”

Noctis snorted. “I will finally know how Ignis felt all these years hen he tried to dress me up while I was still half-asleep.”

Prompto frowned as he passed his scarf above his head. “You let Ignis dress you up? Dude, seriously?”

“I did, and now you're getting dressed up by the king himself, so be careful what you say.”

Prompto's laugh sounded painful, and he cut it short. They battled with the sleeves for a moment, trying to decide of the best way to deal with them.

Meat and fat--Prompto had turned into a quite nicely built adult, but the recent wounds weren't the only trace of the life he had lived while waiting for Noctis to come back. Pink scars marked his pale skin, permanent bruises covered his hips and some parts of his back, like he had fallen down too many times to fully recover. The inside of his arms showed burns that Noctis couldn't affirm for sure weren't a consequence of him whirling hot machinery around. The gunshots, frankly, were the most impressive. Potions usually took care of them alright, they were too small in size to leave a mark after enhanced healing. For most of the scars to be here, it meant--desperate times, fights that lasted too long, missteps caused by exhaustion long after the stock of curatives emptied... but as far as Noctis knew, the only enemy that used guns were the MTs. MTs didn't take that long to take down.

One day, he'd have to ask Prompto about all the fights he picked, and which ones were the hardest. He had a feeling the answer might not be what he wanted to hear. 

“There,” he said, as he finished buttoning the coat. “All set. Let's put the scarf back in place now.”

Prompto obediently helped with that too, and then, stood as straight as he could, while his free hand held on Noctis' shoulder and his broken ankle stayed in the air. They exchanged a look, something silent and charged with emotions.

“You look good,” Noctis said.

“Thanks,” Prompto struggled to answer.

It felt like he was thanking him for something else than the help.

“Come on. Let's get you on stage. Ignis said there'd be a chair for you.”

Noctis put his arm around Prompto's waist and grabbed his arm to put around his shoulders. Prompto's weight wasn't as light as he was used to, but in this moment, he felt like a warm rock against which Noctis, too, could have rested.

**Author's Note:**

> find me at @domesticfluffsimulator on tumblr, I'm currently taking requests like this one, don't hesitate to ask <3


End file.
